


What Comes Around (Or, How Two Asgardians Accidentally Saved Christmas)

by nayanroo



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, asgardians doing midgardian things, loki drives an aston martin, loki thinks he is james bond, loki-induced headachey sif, makin shit up about infinity stones, sassy asshole loki, shamelessly using geography i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayanroo/pseuds/nayanroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asgard has changed into something she doesn't recognize anymore; for him, it's a place that he can no longer call home.  But there's more than disillusionment and discontent at work, and if they want to stop that crazy mortal with a cosmic trinket, they'll have to work together.  And aren't malls crazy enough around the holidays without overpowered villains running around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes Around (Or, How Two Asgardians Accidentally Saved Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [residualaffection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/residualaffection/gifts).



The city was dark. Here and there the glow of a fire from a destroyed building still flickered, but though Asgard was unused to actual assaults they knew how to quickly rebuild from them. Life in the Realm would go on as it always had, and in time the invasion of Asgard by the accursed Malekith would become another tale, spoken round the feast table.

In her hands Sif held a silvery globe of light that illuminated the darkness around her as she walked to the room that had once been Loki’s. Since he had fallen from the Bifrost two years before, his chambers had been maintained first as a kind of memory box, and then by the Lady Frigga in the hope that one day Loki would repent of his actions and return to them. But now…

Her light was joined by another, coming the opposite way down the corridor. Thor’s face was all gradations of light and shadow. He had done this once before, lifting a silver light as an empty boat slipped out onto the sea of stars. This time Loki had been in Thor’s arms as his last breath left his body, and every painful second of it showed on his face now. For all that he had found such happiness with the mortal Jane, theirs was a thing fleeting and new; Thor and Loki had grown up beside each other, had a thousand years to make the kinds of connections that hurt the most when they were cut.

They said nothing as they stopped beside the door, waiting. There were only two more who had indicated they were going to arrive – Fandral, who jogged up the steps not long after them, and the Allfather, who came shortly thereafter, Gungnir clasped in his hand.

“Understand that I cannot give my blessing to this,” the King said, “Nor will I. Loki may not have died a foe of Asgard, but he did not die its friend either. Even in secret, I will not lend my weight to his actions.”

“It is enough that you are here, Father,” Thor said softly. “I think Loki would have wanted your regard upon his spirit.”

The Allfather considered Thor, long and solemn, then turned to the door and put the tip of Gungnir upon it. Loki had, in life, enchanted his rooms with various spells and hexes to keep out unwanted guests. There had always been certain assurances – if Loki was within, then the spells were not active, and of course exceptions had been made for Thor and the Allfather and Allmother – but even Sif had never had unfettered access.

She ducked her head as the doors rumbled open and she walked through beside Thor. It would not do to go into this with such thoughts foremost in her mind. They were fond and pleasant, but they were not of the Loki she had known at the last. Perhaps he had been in there (and the way his eyes had raked over her when she had put her sword to his throat had certainly been familiar) but the Loki then was not the same as before. She would not honor his spirit with the fond memories she had already tried once before to set aside.

The hearth was cold, but the lights of the outer chamber – packed full of books yet, for nobody was certain which ones had been ensorcelled to be left alone or if they even could begin returning the tomes to the libraries they had been pilfered from – cycled on as the small procession walked through, a small entourage for a prince. At least it was certain that every person here was here because they wanted to be.

Loki’s room had a splendid view, and whenever Sif had come here looking for him she had often found him on a couch pulled out here, book cradled in his long-fingered hands. It was here the four of them paused, Sif and Thor facing each other at two ends of a small arc.

There was silence, for a long time. With the Allfather unable or unwilling to render his blessing, there were no words to speak that had not been spoken for Loki once, nothing to say to ease the pain of his passing. Sif reflected instead on the tale of his second death. Perhaps the Allmother had been right, and there had been some good left in him all along. Sif had not been able to afford the doubt that such a thought would have kindled within her, but now…

“Goodbye, Loki,” Thor said softly, and lifted the glowing orb in his palms. It floated up above his head, rising into the sky above Asgard. Sif followed his lead without saying anything; she bid her friend goodbye long ago. Doubtless the two lonely orbs were seen and wondered at, but they would not be questioned. 

The four of them waited until the orbs had floated up into the stars. Fandral was the first to step back from the group, walking back out into the corridor. Sif turned to watch him go, wondering at his presence. He alone of the Warriors Three had come to stand for Loki at either funeral, and though she was quite close to them she could not discern why Fandral should have felt that he had the duty.

Thor and Sif left together, with the Allfather right behind them. He seemed pensive, and hesitated before turning to face Thor.

“I will want to see you in the morning,” he said. “There are certain matters we must discuss.”

Thor bowed his head, and the Allfather folded his hands behind his back and walked away, leaving Thor and Sif standing in the corridor outside of Loki’s rooms. Everything about Thor seemed to droop suddenly, and Sif put her hand on his broad back, thumb rubbing through the leather of his tunic.

“Come,” she said, “Let us go take a drink to your brother’s memory.”

“At the feast below us, full of people who were glad to see him return in chains?” Thor laughed, but it was hollow, and though she had all the sympathy in the realms in her heart for him Sif pursed her lips.

“Before the feast, then,” she said briskly, “So as to brace ourselves for it. But I weary of seeing you this way, Thor.”

“I am sorry, Sif.” He shrugged his shoulders and Sif let her hand fall away. “And I thank you for your offer, but… I cannot.”

He left too, heading toward his own chambers to… what? Mourn again for a brother who had loved and hated him in turns? Mourn his mother, needlessly dead? Sif did not stifle her exasperated sigh as she turned on her heel and left, her cloak billowing with the speed of her passage as she went to seek her own solace.

*

Volstagg marched through the palace. As of late he had found that his armor had been fitting more loosely, and thought that perhaps it was because he was having to do so much more walking to find where all his friends had secreted themselves in the days following the invasion of Asgard and the defeat of Malekith. 

_The lengths I go to for our little band,_ he thought as the sound of metal on metal reached his ears at last. _Decreasing the weight of my regard to give succor to my friends!_

“Lady Sif!” he called, leaning on the balustrade overlooking the sandy training yard. A cloud of it had been kicked up in the center where Sif sparred with two of the Einherjar, her teeth bared and her hair flying about her sweaty face, sticking to her skin. “Lady Sif, a moment!”

“Can it not _wait_ ,” she ground out as she ducked under one blade and blocked another. “I’m a little busy, Volstagg!”

He swallowed. His wife ruled the home with a soft-gloved fist and if there was one thing he had learned in centuries of marriage it was not to bother a woman who said she was busy, yet… “I have urgent business from the Allfather, Lady!”

Sif snarled and lashed out with a foot, planting the heel of her boot in the breastplate of one of her opponents, then dropping and spinning to kick the feet out from under the other, flipping her glaive over in her hands as she did so and grasping it so that each guard had a spar-blunted blade at their throat. “Yield?”

“Yield, Lady!”

“I yield!”

She nodded and helped each one to their feet, then stalked across the sands and up the steps, collapsing her glaive. “Tell me,” she said as she passed Volstagg.

He took a breath and let it out. She was truly a fearsome lady, even bent over the clear fountain washing the sweat from her face and neck, and he did not wish to anger her further, but…

“The Allfather summoned me with a task for the two of us,” he said. “But it must not be spoken of here. May we walk, Lady?”

Sif peered up at him out of the corner of one eye, then nodded and used one of the clean cloths placed around the fountain to dry her skin. “Of course.”

When they were safely away from the noise and bustle of the training yards, Volstagg told her what the Allfather had said – they were to take the Aether, contained in its new and more easily controlled form, and deliver it to the safekeeping of one known as the Collector. It would be safe away from the influence of the Tesseract, the Allfather had said. Best to keep both items separate so that thieves seeking one could not also gain the other.

“The Allfather spoke to you of this?” Sif asked.

“It surprised me too, Lady. Why, I thought you were always highest in his favor, but I suppose… given recent events…”

“Perhaps I have become the recipient of his ire.” Sif was quiet a moment, lost in thought. “Well, I cannot say it is entirely unwarranted.”

“But surely it will not last long, Lady,” Volstagg was quick to say. “After all, you are the Lady Sif! You surely will continue to enjoy the Allfather’s favor until such time as he gives the crown to Thor.”

“Yes,” she said, “Surely that is so.” But Volstagg did not think she believed it.

“In any case,” he boomed, “I would like to meet you in an hour’s time. Will that be long enough to prepare yourself?”

“Of course. One hour, Volstagg.”

*

Sif turned in a slow circle in the middle of her bedchamber, brow furrowed. She was usually meticulously neat about her surroundings and especially about caring for her equipment; everything had a place, and this particular item she always kept close. But she could not find it.

“Damn it all,” Sif muttered. She grabbed up a different knife, shoved it in the slot in the back of her armor. She’d look for the errant blade another time.

Volstagg was already waiting by the gun-boat launch platform, two guards to either side of him. He held the slim glowing box gingerly, and breathed a sigh of relief when Sif took it from him, holding it under her cloak.

“The Allfather’s neutralized it,” she said as they boarded the gun-boat and one of the guards steered them toward the Bifrost. “You needn’t be so skittish.”

“I know, my lady. But it is… are you not the least bit afraid of it? It is responsible for…”

“—us being sent on this errand,” Sif finished firmly. _And the Queen’s death, and…_

She put the thought out of her mind.

“Where I am sending you,” Heimdall said as they took their places in front of the Observatory pedestal, “Is nearly beyond my reach.”

“There is somewhere beyond…?” Volstagg muttered. Sif set her jaw and looked out at the stars, the Branches of Yggdrasil spreading across the sky. She tried to imagine somewhere else – some tiny twig of the World Tree touching some tiny world – and her mind could only conjure a void. Her gut twisted.

“Do not stray from this place, or you risk being unable to return. And keep an eye on what it is that you carry.”

Sif tightened her grip on the Aether’s box. “We are ready, Brother.”

The trip this time was long. Sif felt buffeted about, pulled, stretched too thin and snapped back together again just before her boots hit the metal flooring of their destination and the energy of the Bifrost dissipated off her skin. Sif got her bearings – a brightly-lit chamber, a single doorway leading into a dimmer room that seemed to be full of glass cases, and a woman walking toward them. 

She held herself stiffly and smiled just the same way, and Sif rubbed her thumb along the handle of the Aether’s box and stepped forward.

“We are here to see the Collector,” she said. “By command of Odin Allfather, King of Asgard, Protector of the Nine Realms. We come on a most important errand that he will know.”

“He is expecting you,” the woman said. Her smile never seemed to falter; indeed it seemed like her mouth hardly moved to speak. “This way, please.”

*

When she returned to her rooms, the knife she had sought before lay on her nightstand.

Sif touched the hilt of it, her brow furrowed. She knew her eyes had turned time and again to this place, but the knife had not been there, and it had not been just oversight.

_I am tired,_ she thought as she removed her spare knife and slid this one back into its proper sheath. _Worn down with grief and the exhaustion of a year of fighting Asgard’s foes, and not just ones with weapons in their hands._

But she made a check of her room before she left again, just in case.

*

“You have all committed treason of the highest order,” the Allfather said. The throne had been one of the first things repaired, and their king sat upon it now, Gungnir clasped in one hand. He seemed to lounge upon it… or perhaps perch uncomfortably, Sif could not tell.

“My king,” she said, “I would argue that even though we committed treason, we did it with Thor’s blessing, and we did it to—“

“Thor is not here to defend you, Lady Sif,” the king interrupted, and Sif closed her mouth quickly. “He has chosen to reside on Midgard rather than assume the mantle of king.”

Sif felt as though her heart had been swallowed by the dragon himself. Thor was gone, spending his days on Midgard when Asgard, his _home_ , needed him? What was going on?

“My king,” Fandral said next to her, “Please, I ask your mercy in this. Volstagg and the Lady Sif and I fought our own people, but we did not hurt them much—“

“Not a lot—“

“We only put some of them in Eir’s care—“

“We did it so that Asgard would be safe!” Sif blurted out. She swallowed, but the words were spoken, and she had never backed down before. “Thor wanted to protect Asgard from another incursion by Malekith, and that was why he asked us to do what we did! Nothing else would have been done, and waiting would have only resulted in slaughter. Please, my King—“

“That is _enough._ ” Gungnir’s staff thumped against the floor, and all three of them fell silent. “You have once more betrayed the express command of your king, and though your actions ultimately resulted in Asgard’s benefit, I cannot let you go without punishment. You are bound to this realm, not to pass beyond its borders, for a period of one hundred years. You will be allowed to retain your rank and titles, but you will give your weapons into the care of the armory and will not touch them or wield them, except in direst emergency, until your punishment is over. And do remember that the usual sentence for treason against the throne is death, and that it is only because of the good you have done and your loyal service to Asgard that you have escaped it.”

He thudded Gungnir on the stone floor once more, the echoes seeming just as stunned as the three of them. Sif felt cold. Stripped of her weapons, her ability to defend Asgard as she had done for hundreds of years? Her life’s work taken from her by the very man who had granted it?

“You are all dismissed,” the Allfather said. “Render your weapons to the weaponsmaster within the hour, or I shall have them collected.”

Fandral and Volstagg rose and bowed, their fists over their hearts. Sif lingered, though, waiting until their steps had faded into the hallways of the palace. The Allfather was watching her and there was a strangely familiar look upon his face. She had seen Loki wearing it often, she realized, a calculating, almost curious stare that meant there were deeper gears turning in his mind. The two of them were more similar than she had thought.

“You have some other business to bring to me, Lady Sif?”

“Forgive me, Allfather,” Sif began, her tongue thick, “But I do not understand. We kept Asgard safe from Malekith; our actions resulted in his destruction and in the capture of the Aether. Why are we being punished for this?”

“Questioning your king, Lady, will not earn you any leniency.” Odin stood, and he seemed to tower over her by some means as he descended the steps from the throne to where she knelt before him. Where he had once seemed to be gruffly warm with her, in the way that monarchs had with their favorites, he was now high and cold and it was only Sif’s will that kept her from shrinking back. She had not done it from her king before, she would not now. “I have been forgiving with you many times. I can no longer afford it.”

“I understand, my King,” she made herself say.

Odin was silent, then made a small gesture with his hand. “Rise, Sif.” When she had, he put his hand on her shoulder, his one eye studying her with a piercing blue gaze.

“I had plans for you, once,” he said quietly. “You have the stuff of queens in you, Lady. Would that my son had seen it before it was too late for both of you.”

Something in her clenched tightly, and when the king let his hand slide off her shoulder, it was all she could do to bow and leave the throne room, walking quickly so she could make it to her rooms and back. She had not had the chance to ask the Allfather why he sent the Aether away, but now she saw it did not matter. All of Asgard had gone mad, and here she was without her sword and shield to defend it now, all for the crime of doing what was right. The injustice filled her mouth with ashes, as she laid her beloved weapons on the cloth-draped table in the armory.

“We will care for them well, Lady Sif,” one of the Einherjar told her. “It is not right, this command. But who would defy the Allfather now? His queen has passed beyond the veil and he has an heir that does not want to inherit.”

She wandered aimlessly for a while after that, lost in thought. Though she was not barred from using the practice blades at the training yards (and in time she would, for she did not want to lose her edge), the thought of it was distasteful, so she pulled a book out of her room and took it to one of the terraces to read. It was a military history of Alfheim, one she had been meaning to read for some time but had not been able to get to. The repair of the Bifrost had meant that she had duties on other realms.

_No more now,_ she thought bitterly, and settled onto a bench to read with her book propped against her legs, but her mind drifted into the past and eventually she leaned back against the arm of the bench and closed her eyes. How often had she come across Loki sitting just as she was now, his nose in a book and his mind elsewhere? Now he was gone, Thor who would have been at her side cajoling him into an adventure was gone, their king’s mind seemed to have left the realm with his wife’s body, and Yggdrasil itself did not seem as stable as she had once thought.

“There’s no need to look so dejected, Lady Sif! It’s a punishment, not a death sentence.”

Startled out of her reverie, Sif realized she was slumped over, leaning on the back of the bench, her hands resting on the pages of the book – except the book wasn’t there anymore, and her fingertips worked against the leather of her trousers a moment before she sat up. Thinking perhaps her book had slid off her lap, she looked down at the ground, then up at Fandral.

“Did you take my book?”

Fandral’s brows drew together. “What book?”

“I had one, right here in my hands.”

“You did not when I walked up.”

They both searched for it but could not find it, and there were no other courtiers walking the terrace. Sif did not remember any passing her either, and rubbed her temples.

“First the knife, now this. I swear I am being haunted, Fandral.”

“Alas that you have had to give your weapons into the care of the armory, then. If any could slay the unquiet dead with ease it’s you.”

That made her smile, and though she took one last look around the bench for her book, she ended up joining Fandral as they walked from one part of the palace to the next, talking sometimes, walking in a kind of companionable silence.

“Why did you come with Thor and the Allfather and I?” she asked at one point. They leaned on the edge of a balcony overlooking the broad parade grounds before the palace, shadowed with the oncoming dusk. “To Loki’s funeral. The second one. What duty did you feel?”

Fandral seemed to be considering his response, which Sif thought was strange as he was often so quick with his words. “Loki always seemed to think that we only remained his friends because of Thor,” he said at last. “It seemed that someone ought to have been there at the end to remind his spirit that he was our friend in his own right too, not that he would ever have believed it.”

Sif traced the crack between two stones, gold flecks in the stone catching the light and sparkling under her fingertips. “He never trusted anything anyone told him,” she murmured. “He was so busy thinking about what we were getting out of it that he never thought we were friends because we enjoyed his company.”

Fandral gave her an odd look, but said nothing. Sif was grateful for it, but the knowing in his eyes, and his words about the unquiet dead, followed her into her bedchamber that night, and her sleep was restless.

*

In hindsight Sif realized she should have connected the dots, seen the pattern. But after the Allfather’s edict, after Thor’s departure, she found herself feeling something she had not felt before: directionless.

When she had been a girl, she had watched the Einherjar marching past, their golden capes flying, armor glittering in the light. Young Sif had not wanted anything so much as she had wanted to pick up sword and shield for her home, and when she had been recognized as a true warrior of the realm it had been a childhood dream come true. Finally she could do something, give back to the home that had given her so much, she could give her _life_ if she had to. To have all that stripped away seemed to take much of her purpose.

Sif was not one to wallow, however. She filled her days with various things – training with the practice weapons they were allowed, reading books. History and warfare, mostly, subjects with which she was familiar and comfortable. Eventually she began to branch out, though. The Tesseract and the Aether had been Infinity Stones, things from beyond Yggdrasil’s reach and before even the time of Bor, and so Sif read of them. If these were things that would bring enemies of Asgard to her gates, Sif would find a way to defend against them. She delved deep into the library’s stacks looking for information, and it was there, with her fingers darkened with ink from old tomes, that the Allfather found her. She had set a likely-looking book down on a shelf while she searched for others, and when she turned around again it had been gone.

“Looking for something, Lady Sif?”

She was quick to bow. “My king, I did not expect to see you here. I was looking for information on the Tesseract, the Infinity Stones—“

“I know.” The Allfather’s eye sparkled. “I have been watching you for several minutes.”

“I apologize, Allfather, I did not know.“

“Because I did not wish to be seen right away. I am not the only one who comes here looking for peace and quiet, though.”

She nodded, memories floating to the fore of her mind. “Loki often came for the same reason. He said he could hardly think with all of us around him. I would find him here nine times of every ten, his nose in some tome twice as old as he.”

“I admit I was always surprised when you sought him out.” The Allfather gestured to the chairs at a nearby table and they both sat. “After all it seemed he did nothing to warrant your goodwill.”

Biting her lip, Sif said, “He was my prince, Allfather. I was bound by honor.” At a level gaze, she sighed. “But no, that was not all. We were friends, Loki and I, as much as Thor was my friend. I…”

“Miss him?”

“I miss both of them. Thor – my leader, my friend, practically my brother... and I miss who Loki was.”

“Who he _was_?”

“Allfather, I do not wish to speak ill of the dead.” She shook her head. “When I think of him there is pain in my heart, and I cannot carry it now. I have shed my tears and stood for him, and that is more than he deserves.”

“Perhaps it is. But I think he would be grateful for it. He always thought highly of you, Sif.” The Allfather was quiet for a long moment, then laid his hand upon hers. “You have spent many days in here, the librarians tell me, and I have missed your face at many feasts. With Thor gone, the palace is far too quiet.”

Sif looked down. “I fear I have not found much cause to celebrate lately, Allfather. In fact, I fear I am already going mad, I have lost things, found my belongings moved…”

“You need a rested mind and better company, and I have done nothing to aid that, and far too much to quash it. You were once all but family to me, Lady Sif. I can remember a time when you were always with Thor and Loki…” For a moment the Allfather had a faraway expression, and something about him seemed to lighten for a moment. “…and I would be remiss if I let you drift now.”

“I…”

“Please, Sif.” The Allfather laid a hand upon her shoulder, and in that moment he sounded old, older than the books she held in her hands. Old and tired and… frightened. She had never known him to show any of that, and it hurt her heart to see. She nodded.

“I will come, Allfather,” she said quietly. “I will come tonight.”

That made him smile truly. “Then I shall look for you among the guests,” he said. “May you find what you seek, Lady Sif.”

Without knowing why she said it, Sif replied, “You as well, my king.” The Allfather slowed, just for a moment, but kept walking.

Later that night, Sif sat in front of her vanity, preparing herself for the feast. The last time she had had such a care with her appearance had been at the Allfather’s request too, when he had come to her and asked her to pull Thor’s mind away from thoughts of Midgard and his mortal love. She had done her duty then, too; she had sat here, thinking that perhaps in time their friendship could become more than that, as with most arrangements, and she couldn’t lie to herself and say that she had not imagined it. But Thor had not been deterred, and Sif had to admit that Jane Foster had the heart of a stalwart warrior, if not the strength.

Sif smiled at her reflection. It was a pretty gesture; she just wished that she meant it.

_Now I know what Loki felt, perhaps,_ she thought. He had spoken, when he’d had some wine or when they were alone together, of feeling that he had masks. 

_One for court, one for the rest of Asgard…_

_And for me?_ Sif remembered the caress of fingertips on her skin, light as her own shadow, and shivered.

_No masks for you, lovely Sif._

She gave herself a little shake and picked up her tunic, pulling it over her head and doing up the laces in front, arranging the folds of turquoise silk just so. Who knew if Loki had lied to her then? Perhaps all he had said to her in the years before had been nothing but one more of his masks.

Sif went back to her vanity and paused. In the center of the polished wood was a comb, one that had definitely not been there when she had turned her back a moment ago. In fact it had been shoved in the back of her jewelry box and determinedly forgotten, for it had been a lover’s gift from Loki, and Sif had not wanted to be reminded of him at all for the last two years. With trembling hands she picked it up, watching how the emeralds sparkled in the light. How had it come to be out of her box, sitting here?

Comb in hand, Sif spun round, looking into the corners of her room. “Loki?” she whispered. But he did not appear, and after a few moments of mingled hope and wariness she snorted and tossed the comb down onto her vanity, selecting another instead. She would not wear it, not even if it made Loki’s spirit walk.

“If you are behind all this, you madman,” she said to the air, arranging her dark hair around her shoulders as she strode confidently over to the door, “I shall go into Hel and find your soul and drag you back to life so I might kill you again for being such an ass.”

She paused in her outer chamber to check herself over, made a vain search for the damned knife she’d lost and found and apparently lost again, and left with her chin held high.

*

The feast went for hours, and despite everything Sif did enjoy herself for most of it. She had taken food and drink with the Warriors Three, and though they could not add to their impressive wealth of exploits anytime soon, they had more than enough to spin into highly exaggerated tales already. She laughed with the rest, and felt her heart grow lighter for it. Even the Allfather had smiled and joined in some of the stories – strange, for he had never done it before, but with things being as they were, Sif was prepared to forgive him a little this night. 

Still, as she walked back to her rooms the dark thoughts from before made their sneaky ways back in, and when she opened her door again the shadows were dark and deep in the corners of her room – odd, for she was certain she had left candles burning to light her return from the feast. Sif closed the door behind her quietly and looked around, taking the tie out of her hair as she approached her vanity—

And spun, pulling a knife from the sheath at her back. She had heard something, the sound of fabric on fabric, the scuff of a boot, perhaps... she couldn’t tell. Eyes narrowed, Sif crept forward, peering into the shadows, watching and listening for anything – any movement, any sound that might give away an attacker. She would _not_ die at the hands of some sneaking… ah, yes, the shadows in a corner of her bedroom seemed to be deeper than the rest when the weak moon ought to illuminate it. Sif got as close as she dared, and then let fly with the dagger.

There was a sound like tearing fabric, and as though her knife had shredded cloth the shadow broke apart and drifted to the floor, revealing—

“Not _again_ ,” was what came out of Sif’s mouth, though her heart did a kind of flip in her chest. Loki made her dagger balance on its point on the tip of his finger, then dance across his knuckles as he grinned at her.

“Is that any way to greet someone who has cheated Hel out of a soul?” The dagger vanished in a flash of green. “No fond words? I should have let your blade strike my heart.”

“Given the circumstances, it would clearly have no lasting effect,” Sif muttered. She made herself turn away, putting space between them so she would not have to school her expression too much. Thor had told her how Loki had died, how he had laid down his life for Thor and Jane. Sif would not have believed the news had it come from anyone but Thor, who could not have lied if he’d wanted to… and why would he have done it anyway? Sif had comforted him as best she could and knew that he had gone to Earth to seek better solace in Jane’s arms. She had had no one.

Loki followed her, feigning surprise. “I seem to have struck a nerve,” he mused. “Did you miss me, Sif?”

“I missed _my friend_.” Sif was surprised at first at the hardness of her own voice, but it fit with the anger that bubbled up. “I missed the boy I played with, the friend who had my back in battle and could talk his way out of death itself. I missed the man you _were_ , Loki. But he is gone,” and her voice fell to a whisper. “Gone and dead.”

“You’re right,” Loki said after a pause, when Sif had shown no sign of turning to face him again. He’s long gone. Died in the void, Sif, and left a better version of himself.”

“He left a twisted shadow, a _stranger_.”

She twitched when she felt his fingertips slide up her side and stepped away, not wanting his touch. “I think you’ll find that a stranger could not possibly remember what I remember about you. I am no shadow, Sif,” and now his voice was hard, heavy with memory. “I am an evolution.”

“Not for the better.” Sif turned at last, her arms crossed. “Loki, you must go to the Allfather and tell him you are alive, he has not been the same—“

Loki made a noise that she might charitably have called a giggle. “I know,” he tittered. “He doesn’t seem like himself at all, I’ve been haunting him too…”

“Haunting… _you’re_ what’s been moving my things around?”

“I’m still hurt you didn’t wear the comb. Do you know the trouble I went to, finding a jeweler with the level of discretion I needed? That was a gift fit for a queen, Sif, the queen you could have been if my interfering brother hadn’t dethroned me…”

Sif stared at him incredulously before running a hand over her face. “At _least_ tell your brother, then.”

“And have the news that Loki is very restlessly dead heard all over the Nine Realms by midday? No, Sif, death suits me far too well for _that_ , I’m much more productive when people think I am gone.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“It would be easier to tell you what’s still right with me. The list is shorter and easier to remember.”

“Gods above, Loki, can you be _serious?_ ” Sif had lost her resolve not to give away anything to him; she was frustrated and no small part of her was _happy_ to see him alive, and she could not reconcile the two sides. “I have twice mourned you, twice comforted your brother for your loss—“

“Comforted him?” Something about Loki chilled. “What, here, in your bed?”

“Shut _up_ , Loki.”

“Everyone tells me that.”

“I am _tired_ of it, Loki. I am _tired_ of seeing the home I love be torn apart by its own leaders, I am tired of seeing my friends downtrodden and in pain.” Sif reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. “For two years I have been tired, and I have not the energy or the heart to deal with your games.”

“ _Deal_ with me?” Loki affected a pout. “Then I shall simply leave.”

Her hands were suddenly grasping empty air, and Sif let her hands drop, spinning round in circles. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and sighed. “You are far too vain to leave in the middle of an argument when you could convince yourself you’ve won it, Loki,” she said to the apparently empty room.

“You’re quite right.”

She turned and saw him lounging on her bed. “Get your boots off the furs,” she said automatically. Much to her surprise, he complied easily.

“Comb or not, you still looked lovely at the feast tonight. That’s quite a fetching tunic from this angle.” He leered at her.

“Stop. How do you know what I looked like?”

“I’m a ghost, Sif.” He smirked, immensely pleased with himself. “I can walk through walls.”

She threw up her hands. “Walk through them now, then. I am going to bed.”

“This is a large bed.”

“And there’s still only room for one.”

“We had a lot of fun in this bed.”

“I am _not--_ ”

“And why not?” At Sif’s glare, Loki shrugged. “The anger has made it better in the past, I must say.”

“You are…” she groped for words. “…incorrigible.”

“ _Insatiable_ describes me better.”

“Gods _damn_ you, Loki—“

“They already have, Sif.” Loki laughed, but there was something hollow in it, and Sif looked at him and saw that his smile shook at the edges and his body had gone rigid. “I am well and truly damned. Are you happy?”

“I am _not_ ,” she snapped, though it had no bite. “I have not been happy since Jotunheim.”

“Neither have I,” he said. “We have that in common still, at least.”

She sat heavily on the bed and kicked her boots off. “We used to have _more_ in common until you got some fool notion into your head that I was going to marry Thor.”

“The Allfather was planning it, you know.”

“I suspected.”

Loki peered at her. “Would you have protested?”

“I would have done my duty,” Sif replied, but she must have betrayed herself. She had never been as good at hiding her true thoughts as Loki had. “Thor and I… we would have grown into love, as your mother and father did—“

“He was never my father,” Loki muttered. 

“He raised you. Does that not make him a father to you?” She put her face in her hands. “Get out, Loki.”

“It’s going to snow tonight, Sif. Would you leave me out in the cold?”

“You are a Frost Giant, Loki, you would be quite happy.”

“I would _not_ be happy. Why do you think I would be happy out there, when I am far warmer and in better company here?”

“You wouldn’t,” Sif murmured, choosing her words carefully. “But I think perhaps you would prefer being miserable to letting yourself find contentment.”

Loki didn’t reply, but he unfolded his arms, letting his hand fall next to her leg. Not quite touching, but wanting to. Sif eyed it for a moment, and then something inside her slipped, and she laid her hand carefully atop his. It was real, solid and… not warm, but she could feel his heartbeat as her fingers slid around to his wrist.

“If I stay,” Loki began, but Sif used her other hand and covered his mouth.

“If _I allow you_ to stay, you will not talk,” she told him, “You will not speak lies that will make me angrier with you than I am now.” By his face she saw he wanted to say something right away and pressed the heel of her hand down a little harder. “I have better ideas as to how you can use your mouth, Loki, and I intend to make you fulfill every single one of them this night.”

She moved her hand off, stretching out atop the furs. Loki rolled on top of her and she felt a curl of pleasure in her belly at the weight of him, the smell of leather and ozone filling her lungs.

“No masks for you, Sif,” Loki whispered against her throat.

*

Sif’s head was throbbing. Her body was throbbing too, but it was a more pleasant throbbing, and when she turned over the arm draped across her hips tightened, the face that had been buried in the sweat-scented valley between her breasts now pressed itself against her back, and a husky voice woke her fully.

“ _Must_ you move? I was comfortable.”

“And I was not, and now I am.” Sif buried her head under her pillows and groaned as her head throbbed harder. Loki’s breath was cold against her skin as he laughed.

“For a dead man,” he said, “I seem to have not lost my touch.”

“You will truly be dead if you do not stop talking. It’s making my head pound.”

“That’s not your head, lovely Sif.” Loki’s fingertips snuck around her hip, dipping downward, and as they moved between her legs Sif’s fingers tightened on the pillow until he whispered, “It’s someone at your door.”

“ _What--_ ” Sif knocked his arm away, ignored him giggling faintly into the pillows, and scrambled to find her discarded tunic. “You have to leave. _Now._ ”

Loki pointed at the still-open draperies to her balcony. Snow blanketed the golden floor and the balustrade, and the city itself was barely visible through the drifting white. “Can’t. Snowing.”

“ _You—are—a—Jotun!_ ” Sif hissed as she grabbed her trousers, hopping on one foot and then the next as she pulled them on.

Loki rolled over in her bed, having all the appearance of intending to bury himself in her furs, until Sif grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into her bathing room. “If you must stay,” she whispered, “You stay _in here_ and _quiet_ until I have found out who thought it a good idea to disturb me at this hour.”

“It’s actually—“

“Shut up, Loki!”

She ran across the room, through her outer chamber, and pulled open the door to Volstagg.

“Hello,” she said. “What brings you here, Volstagg? Is something amiss?”

“Nothing is wrong, good Lady,” her friend replied. “But you were to meet me—“

“—in the training yards this morning at dawn,” Sif finished, running a hand through her mussed hair. “I apologize, Volstagg. I quite forgot.”

“As it turns out the snow is falling too hard to keep up with clearing it off the sands, so it matters not. May I?”

“Ah, Volstagg, I—“

He walked into her bedchamber and Sif drew in a long, silent breath. She could not trust Loki to keep himself out of mischief, and now Volstagg was here, and if it was discovered that she had bedded a supposedly dead traitor...”

“I must say, Lady Sif, it is good to see you in such high spirits this morning.” Volstagg turned to look at her as he picked at the plate of chilled fruit that sat on a table by the balcony. “You have not been yourself lately. Dimmer, I think. But now you look vibrant as a morning sun!”

“I—thank you, Volstagg, but—“

“Practically glowing! Fandral, do you not think so?”

“Fandral?” Sif muttered, turning to look over her shoulder as Fandral swept in.

“Radiant, glorious, vivacious,” Fandral agreed. “If I did not know better, I would think you had bedded someone last night.”

“Why ‘if you did not know better’?” Sif asked, a little nettled. “I am—“

“I saw you leave alone last night,” Fandral replied quickly. “And you were not exactly speaking to many men last night. Or women. Not even Brunnhilde, and I _know_ she—“

“—has her own interests now,” Sif interrupted firmly. “I must ready myself for my day, gentlemen, so if you could—“

“Why? There is clearly nothing we can do and nowhere to go, even if there was no snowstorm.”

“I—“ Sif froze. Loki, back in his black leathers, was lounging on her bed again. He had a bunch of grapes and was popping them into his mouth, smirking at her. She shot him an incredulous look. “I had plans to go to the library…”

“You have been there much lately,” Fandral said. “I wonder if you are seeking to replace Loki?”

Loki eyed her back with interest. Sif did her best to ignore him. “I have been reading of the Infinity Stones. There is precious little in the libraries, and it is spread out.”

“Whyever are you reading about those things?” Volstagg made a face. “We have rendered one to the Collector for safekeeping, and the Tesseract is locked in the Vault. Nothing will touch either of them, and we need concern ourselves no longer.”

“Because they have been important enough to cause the deaths of Asgardians,” Sif pressed. “Malekith invaded Asgard to find the Aether. I must know as much as I can, and I have found there are more—“

She was distracted by Loki’s face. His interest had changed; his brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed. He knew something. Luckily, Fandral was speaking and seemed not to notice her lack of attention.

“If there are more, then doubtless they are hidden well. Such things would not remain out of sight for long.” Fandral twitched his cape around him. “Not with the realms beginning to fill with people realizing their own power.”

“And us bound here, unable to stop them,” Sif murmured. She glanced up to meet Loki’s eyes, but he had gone, and she sighed. “Now, I really must insist that you both leave, or at least wait elsewhere. I have need of a bath, and I refuse to do it with you two oafs around.”

*

She got the news after returning from a ride in the mountains. It was nearly a year into her punishment, and winter once again bit at the air. Unlike her lover it left no marks, but when she slid from her mount’s back and an Einherji ran up to her tell her of an attack on Midgard, a man with a gem of immense power, she felt the sting of those words like a blade in her back.

But when she heard what else the Einherjar had to say, the sting turned to a chill, a bone-deep cold that even her warm winter cloak could not keep out.

“What did you say?” she whispered.

“They said they saw Loki there, Lady. The traitor Loki… he was in the city, in the midst of the chaos. In Los Angeles,” and the strange Midgardian name sounded even stranger.

“How,” she whispered.

“Are you all right, Lady Sif?”

“I… this is troubling news. Has the Allfather been informed?”

“No. We only just received word from Heimdall, I was on my way—“

“I will go with you,” Sif said abruptly, tossing her horse’s reins to a stablehand. “I must speak with the Allfather on this matter as well.”

*

“I am sorry, Sif,” and the words hit her like stones. “But I cannot lift your punishment, not even for this matter.”

“But it concerns the Infinity Stones, and—and my King, Loki was seen there! _Loki!_ ”

“Midgard has its own heroes, Sif. It does not need ours.”

She stood then, wishing for her sword so she could grasp it and feel like she had something solid, something that was not spinning out of her control. “If he is dead,” she said slowly, “Then what was he doing in a city in Midgard?”

“It is none of our concern.”

“None of our concern?” Sif took a breath. “I would think, my King, that Loki is certainly our concern.”

“Thor has said he is dead, and so dead he must be.” Odin narrowed his eye at her. “You question your King, Lady Sif? Perhaps I have been too lenient with you.”

She could not take this any longer. Over the last year she had noticed, more and more, that the King had seemed… unwell, or perhaps absent, uncaring of the problems of his realm and those of others. It was as though he was _bored._ And it had nettled her to see it.

“No, my King,” she said, keeping her voice carefully level. “No, you have not been. I will remain here.”

The rest of the day she spent in her room, seething with quiet fury. The Warriors Three had tried to divert her, each one proposing something more and more outrageous.

“Really, Sif,” Fandral said when he finally gave up and got up to leave. “There’s nothing we can do about it without defying _another_ royal edict, and you have to admit that it’s not the best habit to get into.”

When dinner came she only picked at the plates of food; anger made her stomach too tight, made the duck tasteless and the vegetables bland, and eventually she pushed it back and rose to pace her room as darkness fell. She turned away several messengers from the King, and if Loki had come to her then she would have turned him away too, but he did not. Even this caused her temper, and feeling sullen, Sif stripped off her tunic and leggings and got ready for bed.

“Not going to wish me goodnight, Sif?”

Somehow his late appearance nettled her further. Sif pulled a sleep shirt on and determinedly ignored Loki as she got into bed. He leaned heavily on her weapons table, eyes unusually bright in the darkness as he walked over, undeterred by her lack of response.

“After your foul mood all day, I’d have thought a little release of tension would do you good. You have made me bleed before, and I must say, I find it quite exciting—“

“Go away, Loki.” Sif rolled onto her side. “I am in no mood for you tonight.”

“I can get you into the mood.”

“No. Leave me and trouble someone else. Trouble _Thor_ , if a response is what you seek. You shall not get it from me.”

“But Thor is so _easy_ to manipulate. I’ve tired of him, you are much more fun.” Loki leaned over her, and she could just see his too-wide grin at the edge of her vision. “Is this not a reaction, then?”

“It’s not the kind of reaction you want.”

“And how do _you_ know what I want?”

“I know that you _don’t_ know what you want. That much I surmised about you long ago, Loki. I am only surprised you have not seen it about yourself.”

Something about her words seemed to nettle him. Loki sneered and pushed off the bed, pacing back and forth with a slight waver.

“You know nothing,” he spat back at her. “ _Nothing,_ one of Thor’s lackeys to the end—“

Sif’s voice shook with anger. “And I have been allowing a named traitor into my bed for _over a year_ because I am Thor’s _lackey._ ”

He was on her faster than she could blink, and there was strength in the way he gripped the fabric of her shirt so tightly she heard some of the stitches snap. “Do you think you do me a favor, Sif?”

“Do you think I lay with anyone who wants me?” she retorted, fisting her hands in his jacket. “Do you think I would not risk what little I have left to my name for someone I did not truly want or desire? _Yes_ , Loki, I did you a favor by letting you into my bed. Have you not been happier for it?”

Something flickered across his face, so fast that Sif almost thought she imagined it. But he laughed, though his eyes seemed hollow. “It is not Loki’s lot to be happy, Sif.”

“Perhaps Loki had best change his mind about that.” Sif narrowed her eyes at him, catching a whiff of something on his breath. “Have you been drinking?”

The question made him shift abruptly into a sort of dark amusement. “Yes,” he declared with a smile. “Yes, I have in fact been drinking, Sif. I do that.”

Sif couldn’t even sigh. She gave Loki a disgusted sneer and pushed him back, rising from the bed as he stumbled a few steps. “You are a disgrace,” she snapped, walking onto the balcony and letting the night air chill her anger. “You thought you had to reach above you, never knowing you were already first in our hearts. Did you think you would gain _anyone’s_ favor by what you’ve done?”

Loki glared at her petulantly. “I gained their _attention_.” Sif heard the gurgle of liquid and glanced over her shoulder. He stood by her forgotten dinner as he poured wine, a careful lack of emotion on his face. That told her enough.

“You had it.”

“Only as an afterthought. Loki Lie-Smith, Loki Snaketongue, Loki Second-born. Loki _Laufeyson._ ”

“An _afterthought?_ Is that how you remember it?” Sif snorted derisively. “The wine has addled you.”

“Was I somehow unclear in my words?” Loki smirked at her over his cup. “But I am not an afterthought any longer.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Oh, _so_ perceptive.” Loki spread his arms. “But what will you do, Sif? Tell my mother about my inebriation? I do hate to inform you, but she’s—“

“ _Do. Not._ ” Sif knew she oughtn’t do it but she snapped, crossing the distance between them in long strides. Her grip on his throat was steel, her eyes and heart hard as stone. “You will not dishonor your mother’s name, not when I _know_ you loved her if indeed you loved anyone at all, not when she was the last one who trusted you when you could have been rotting alone in a cell and it would have been better than you _deserved_.”

“Monsters are incapable of love, Sif.”

“And that is why you let Thor and the Allfather believe you dead - _why are you laughing?_ ” For Loki had started snickering, and Sif ground her teeth, tightening her grip so that he choked off, but his eyes were still glittering. “Loki—“

“I have a little secret to tell you, Sif,” he gasped out, when she loosened her hand enough to allow it. “A little detail I’ve left out in our little romps.”

“Stars, Loki…”

“Someone did die,” Loki said, leaning forward. There was no drunk slur to his voice now. “Obviously it was not myself, though, and as Thor is gallivanting about Midgard with his little mortal love right now…”

He trailed off, watching for the moment she put it together, and Sif knew it showed on her face for every nerve in her body suddenly went numb. “What are you saying?”

“The King is dead,” Loki whispered, his body shimmering until it was not his throat but Odin’s that Sif held in her hand. “Long live the King.”

The ground dropped from under Sif’s feet. “What have you done, Loki?” she breathed. “Stars and Branches, _what have you done?_ ”

He shimmered green and it was himself standing before her once more, but there was a shake in his smile, and Sif knew that she was not the only one who had been standing on a precipice. She let him go, too stunned to keep up her own threat. “I’m two for two with patricide, Sif. Doesn’t it make you proud to know you’re sleeping with someone who is a far more heinous murderer than you will ever be? You always deserved the best.”

“You _killed_ your _father_ \--“

“Both of them, actually, it must be a record…”

“For the love of the Nine Realms, Loki, _shut up!_ ” Sif pushed him away with dead fingers, though her eyes blazed.

Loki spread his arms. “You slept with me before, and I was still a murderer. What’s changed?”

“Everything. _Everything_ has changed.” Sif turned, walking away from him. “Get out. Do not return.”

“Sif—“

“I said _get out!_ ”

When she turned, there was nobody behind her. Sif prowled her room’s perimeter, angrily jabbing at shadows with a freshly-sharpened knife until she was satisfied she was alone. Only then did she drop the knife and sink to her knees, tears of anger and heartache and profound sadness welling up in her eyes. Over the last year she had seen… _thought_ she had seen changes in Loki. They were small things – an easier laugh, a more genuine smile, or at least a smile more like she remembered him having years ago – but Sif had trusted her gut each time she began to question the wisdom of carrying on with someone who was either dead or a fugitive. It seemed her gut had been wrong.

She let herself cry for a long time, until there was nothing left, until she was dry and empty. Then she stood and went to a basin, splashed water on her face, and crawled into bed to a restless sleep.

*

Sif did not leave her rooms the next day, or the day after that. Her friends came to her door again but she did not let them in. She could not face anyone, certain that the shame she felt would be writ large for all to see.

On the third day, though, she rose and dressed, going down to the training yards. The snow had piled up around the outer edges, and at the look in her eyes some of the trainees looked between themselves, unsure as to if they wanted to take her on. But she had to admit that after a morning of pummeling everyone who came to fight her, she felt much better. She did hate moping.

“It’s good to see you back with us,” Hogun said as they walked back toward the residential area of the palace. “I had worried much about you. I still am.”

“Thank you.” Sif wished she had her sword; her hands longed for its hilt, the comforting solidity of it. “Hogun, have you noticed anything strange about the Allfather lately?”

Hogun shrugged, but by the way he looked at her, eyes just a little wider than usual, was the only answer she needed. 

“He seems less… interested,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “If you see him, do not speak of it to him. Just tell me if anything stands out to you.”

She left her friend at the door to his quarters, then went up to her own, stripping off her leather armor as she went. So focused was she on the buckles that she did not notice who was sitting in a chair, leaning back precariously against a golden pillar until he cleared his throat.

“I told you to get out,” she snapped. Loki, though, didn’t look like himself. He was paler, and there was a strange look in his eyes – if she had thought Loki prone to fits of _zoning_ , as the mortals called it, she’d have said it was that. “Why have you come?”

It seemed to take Loki a moment to process her question, and his voice was oddly dreamy when he replied. “Do you ever think that you can do something, and you swagger in without a thought…”

“No.”

“Oh. Well. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“I don’t care. Leave now.”

“I cannot. Sif, I cannot, I… I need your help.”

She stared at him, torn between yelling and laughing in absolute disbelief that he was audacious enough to crawl back and ask her a favor. “Surely you have more than enough to do,” she said coldly. “Impersonating your dead father—oh, Stars and Branches, Loki, _stop_ it—is undoubtedly a full-time task.”

“Actually,” Loki said, raising a finger and letting his chair tip back to the floor with a loud thunk. “Actually, Sif, I find myself drifting away from responsibility. It’s quite tedious, running an entire realm. Very boring.”

“Then you should have thought of that before you started doing it.” Sif stalked past him to the bathing room. “I am going to take a bath, and when I am done, you will be gone or I will call the guard.”

“Sif—Sif, wait, I truly do need your help, this is not something I can do alone.”

She paused. Never before had she heard Loki admit that he could not do something by himself, for he had always been trying to show that he was just as strong, just as worthy of praise as his brother. It had led to brashness and many trips to the Healing Rooms, but despite that, never had there been an open request for aid. Sif closed her eyes, arguing with herself a moment-- _he’s manipulating you, he knows how to push you into doing his bidding, he’ll probably get you killed in whatever harebrained scheme that’s gotten out of his control now, you should really just call for the Einherjar to slap him in chains and drag him back to the prisons_ \--and turned to face him, crossing her arms.

“You have to the count of thirty to convince me.”

Loki spoke quickly. “You have been reading of the Infinity Stones. News has reached Asgard that there is one in the mortal city of Los Angeles, as you know. I was seen there, as it happens, because I was attempting to take said cosmic bauble from its current possessor; such power is beyond the means of any mortal to control or understand, and this one is particularly dangerous now he’s been warped by the Stone. It could well mean the destruction of Asgard as well as Midgard if it is left, and obviously I cannot go and rouse the Einherjar to my aid. And I do not trust the Warriors Three or indeed like them at all, and I cannot go to Thor because he is elsewhere being disgustingly heroic. It is only you, Sif.”

“I’m sorry your choices are so limited,” she muttered. “You received the news of this in the guise of the Allfather. Why _not_ just go and take it? You would have had the authority of Asgard behind you now, instead of…”

“A price on my head from the governments of two countries on Midgard? Well, yes, but it would have meant the one who holds the Stone knowing he was being targeted, and this is best done clandestinely. Sif, I know you want only to defend your home. Do this for me.”

“It is _your_ home too.”

“Not anymore.” There was a note of sadness in his voice, and Sif realized that with his mother dead and his brother on Midgard, and Odin gone, there was truly nothing tying Loki here. Nothing, except her. “Please, Sif.”

The silenced stretched out taut as she wracked her brain, thinking of all the reasons she ought not go and weighing them against the motivation to help him. “I am going to go take a bath,” she said slowly, and saw Loki’s face close up.

“Sif, I—“

She held up a hand. “And when I get out, I want you to have collected my shield and sword from the armory and brought them up here. Surely your illusions are up to projecting something in their place?”

For the first time in a long time, Sif thought the smile he gave her was one of genuine pleasure. “As my lady commands,” he said with a bow, and vanished. Sif went in to her bath, but before she could disrobe, she prodded all the shadows, just to be sure he wasn’t peeping.

Sure enough, when she finished her bath, her sword and shield were laid out on her table, and Loki was standing beside them looking insufferably pleased with himself.

“Ready to go?”

*

They emerged from a brick wall between two smelly metal boxes standing in an alleyway. Sif’s boots scraped on the strange gray stone, and she turned her eyes skyward, only the sky was barely visible between two huge towers of stone and glass, and there was so much noise—

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Loki said beside her.

The ends of the alleyway looked out onto two streets, cars traveling at what seemed breakneck speeds in either direction. Occasionally they would come to a pause, the people inside looking straight ahead rapturously until they started moving again. It was nothing at all like Puente Antiguo, which had reminded her of one of the smaller villages in Vanaheim. This city was surely more like to Asgard.

“What a strange place,” Sif murmured, and gripped her sword a little more tightly in her palm.

Loki, meanwhile, was examining her closely. “We can’t have you wandering around looking like that,” he said at last. Sif looked down at her armor and dove-gray coat.

“What’s wrong with my armor?” she demanded to know. Loki put up his hands, and she realized he was not wearing his usual leather clothes either. They had been replaced by a smart-looking suit and tie in darkest black. His concession to his vanity was a scarf of green and gold, looped around his neck. It all fit perfectly, she noted with a roving eye before snapping her gaze back up to his face. “If we are to fight, I will need it to protect myself.”

“But if we are to be secretive in our movements here, you will need to look a little more like a mortal. Though truly, my lady, you are far too beautiful, too radiant to—“

“Enough,” Sif muttered, waving a hand. “Very well. But I have brought no clothes that will help me blend in here, and I have no magic with which—“

“Ah,” and Loki grinned at her, “But you are with a sorcerer.”

He waved a hand expansively and Sif felt a prickling against her skin, the comforting constriction of her armor vanishing. Looking down, she scowled. “Loki.”

“What?” He paced a circle around her, admiring the sparkling, very _short_ black skirt from behind, then came round the front and leered at her chest that was all but exposed to the open air. “I think it’s quite a flattering—“

“ _Loki._ ”

“You are _no_ fun,” he muttered, but waved his hand again. The dress was replaced with something similar to her tunic and leggings, the uncomfortably tall heels swapped for flat boots that, she was pleased to find, conformed perfectly to her feet. Sif used her shield arm to pull the red coat closer against a gust of chilly, smelly wind.

“My weapons?”

“Hm, yes, those’ll stand out too. Put them on your back.” She did so, and Loki twitched his fingers again. “They’re invisible,” he said. “Reach back and your fingers will find them, and when you touch them your armor will reappear. And now… we must go quickly.”

He offered his arm and after a moment’s hesitation Sif took it. Loki held out his other palm and a glowing green ball of light appeared in it, small symbols moving across its surface. It must have made sense to him, for a moment later he closed his fingers, and when he opened them again the glowing orb was gone. “This way. Now, I think it best if we pretend to be newlyweds, madly in love, on our honeymoon…”

“And then you’ll wake up,” Sif muttered. They laughed, but Sif quieted soon after. She had said something much the same to him once, long ago. Before… everything.

Loki seemed to remember it too. He stayed silent for a long time, perhaps the longest he’d kept his teeth together since he’d started coming to her bed. 

“Would it have been so bad?” he asked. “I know you were meant for Thor—“

Sif felt her temper flare again. “I am not _meant_ for anyone but the one I choose. How many times must I say it? I am not some prize horse to be given to the man who bids the highest. If I had thought you would have wanted it I would have favored you.”

All her frustration seemed to be coming unstuck now, the weight of hundreds of years pressing down on her tongue and making it dance to a different tune than she meant to sing. But it felt… well, it felt _good._ Loki looked at her, struck.

“If I had thought you wanted me to to court you, I would have done.”

“Would you? It would have meant that you would have admitted to actually being something other than cold and aloof from the rest of us, and that wasn’t what you wanted everyone to see. Loki must not be seen to _care_.” Sif shrugged, her ire still hot, but her mind slowing. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Do you no longer want me?”

“You’re supposed to be _dead_ , Loki, and more than that, you betrayed Asgard, you betrayed my trust, and I… I cannot. Not now, when you are like this.”

“Will you then be a reward, should I maintain my good behavior?”

“I cannot _make_ you behave, Loki. Not even if I lacked the self-respect required to keep myself from being used thus. It ought to come from your own will, or not at all.”

He was quiet again. “And if it does not come? Am I not worthy of Sif then?”

“Well, if you persist in impersonating adoptive fathers, certainly not.”

“I never thought I would say this, but Sif, do be serious.”

“I know not, Loki.” Sif threw up her free hand. “I have no gift of foresight. Otherwise I would have done everything in my power to keep matters from coming to this. You… you were a dear friend to me. I thought to always have someone who knew what it was like to be different from the rest, you with your magic and me with my blades, but then you thought you were the _only one_ to ever suffer at the hands of those too ignorant to accept change, and… things were no longer the same.”

“Different in more than just my magic…”

“Stars and _Branches,_ Loki, we all would have come round to your heritage. We knew you for who you were, not _what_ you are. Do you think us all so shallow? Do you think _Thor_ so shallow?”

This seemed to shock him somehow, and he did not speak again until they ducked into a store that smelled of coffee and pastries so he could check his little direction spell again. His brow furrowed as he read the runes and sigils spinning across its outer surface, and—Sif could see now—tiny dancing points of light that seemed clustered to one side.

“We have to hurry,” he said, and stood once more. “It’s moving far too fast for us to catch up on foot. We’ll need transportation.”

“But—“

“Fear not, valiant Sif,” he said, smiling broadly, “I have this under control.”

They slipped into another alleyway and Loki drew up a door—literally gesturing in the air with the tip of his finger—and led her through into a dimly lit walkway between two buildings lined with doors. The towers they had walked through moments ago were visible, but they seemed to be at least a mile off.

“Why are we here?”

“I told you. Transportation.” Loki was walking slowly along the doors on one side, counting them off. He stopped beside one and pulled a brass key out of a pocket. Sif crossed her arms.

“Could you not just take us directly there with your magic?”

“The Stone would sense my magic when we appeared and would change things.”

He said this so matter-of-factly that Sif shut her mouth and watched as he fitted the key to the lock, then pulled up the door and looked upon the contents of the room beyond with great relish. “There you are,” he purred, and ran a hand over the hood of one of the sleekest-looking cars she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d only seen a very few, but even she could tell this one was quite special.

“You have a _car?_ ”

Loki gave her a very patient look, as though she was a small child. “Yes, Sif,” he said slowly, pulling another set of keys out of his pocket and thumbing a fob on them. The lights of the car flashed and there was the click of a lock. He pulled a door open and gestured to her; she took the hint and slid inside. “I have a car. It is called an Aston Martin and I have been reliably informed it is a very luxurious vehicle.”

“Where did you – I probably do not want to know,” she muttered. 

Loki slid in behind the wheel. The car purred to life when he inserted the key, and with a deft hand he pulled out—

And suddenly they were speeding along a street, the lights of the car’s interior shifting from red to green to blue to white; there was music coming from somewhere, a man singing about trees that became a woman, asking a man to hurry down a chimney for some reason. Loki seemed to have a disregard for things that seemed important, the color-changing lights that were (she surmised by the behavior of other cars) supposed to regulate how many cars moved along a street at a given time not slowing him down at all. Sif found herself gripping the leather seat hard, her nails digging in.

“Must we go at this breakneck pace?” she hissed. Loki’s response, predictably, was to take his eyes completely off the road and direct a rictus grin at her as he steered around other cars.

“Come now, Sif, are you losing your nerve? And here you’ve carried on with me for a whole year, I thought you a little more _daring_.”

“I—that is something completely differently, Loki, _please_ watch what you’re doing—“

“It’s not at all different. You were brave enough to have an affair with me right under your King’s nose…”

“You _were_ the King—“

“Actually I currently still am.” Loki turned to look at the road again and Sif relaxed her grip on the seat a little. “I _am_ the King.”

“Not by your own right.”

“I have the _only_ right.”

“Why do you want the throne so badly?” she snapped at last, all her thin patience with him gone. “Why could you not have at least pretended contrition for your crimes so that you could have perhaps been allowed more freedom?”

“Why do you ask so many questions I do not want to answer?”

“Because _I_ want you to answer them, Loki!”

“Well, I do not wish to, so—“

“You always fight the simplest things,” she muttered. “When it would benefit you more to just _go along_ \--“

“It’s not in my nature, Sif.” He turned them onto a ramp and sped up even more, but the cars on this thoroughfare seemed to be moving at a great pace anyway. “It’s much more fun my way.”

But there was something hollow in his words, and Sif pressed it, focused on it as she would have focused her offense against a foe. “And pretending to be someone you have professed loathing for, despite that he raised you as his own, cannot be fun to you. Certainly for a while it might have been, but… not anymore.”

Much to her pleasure, Loki glanced at her again, and she could not but gloat a little that he looked quite surprised. “How could you have known that?”

“I grew up with you, Loki. I know you at least a little bit. I know you tired of games quickly when they became too easy for you or went on too long.”

“It is quite fun fooling everyone,” Loki muttered, but it was a distracted response.

“When it stopped being entertaining for you,” Sif continued, the threads of her conclusion beginning to weave together in her mind, “You started looking elsewhere for your little thrills. You came to Midgard because you thought perhaps there was another Stone here… after all where there was one, there could be another. You found it.”

Loki began talking very quickly, which to Sif meant that she was on the right path. “May I remind you that regardless of my motivations, we are going – together – to find and return to safekeeping one of those very Stones? Surely it’s no matter _why_ I’m including you, only that I am, and—“

“It matters to me. As you were before, you only rarely asked our aid; I never expected you to ask for it after they brought you back—“

“—facing a foe who for all his mortality has been able to control the power of an Infinity Stone, and I have experienced the will of one of them once already and it is nothing to be trifled with, Sif, and that is the _only_ reason I am asking for aid—“

“From someone who you once decided was no longer worthy of your regard—“

“Oh, and you are _blameless_ in that,” Loki snapped, gripping the wheel so tightly that the leather creaked. “You never gave me reason to think that you would have accepted an official arrangement or fought a betrothal to my dear, perfect brother. Oh, no, it was always talk of _service to your realm_ and other foolishness—“

“Is that what this is about?” Sif snapped. “If you had not been so damned focused on rising higher, maybe I would have _wanted_ to fight for you. But I am not going to put forth effort if my only reward for it is further snubbing!” Loki was sullenly silent, so she continued. “If you had but asked, Loki, I would have accepted.”

More silence. Then, quietly: “Truly?”

“You are the habitual liar, Loki, not I.”

He remained quiet as signs and lights passed by, and the music continued to issue forth from the car. _Have yourself a merry little Christmas…_

Sif had just caught herself humming along with a particularly catchy tune when Loki spoke again, quietly. He had turned off the thoroughfare onto a smaller street that nonetheless seemed to be large and busy. In the distance, behind the hills they were driving toward, flashes of light lit the cloudy sky, and in true form, Loki ignored what they had been talking about in favor of something less personal, less uncomfortable.

“The Stone we face is one that can alter reality itself,” he said. “Do not believe all you see, for the Stones exist to protect themselves and further their own agendas. We can only hope to work with them, not make them work for us.”

“Did the Tesseract give you this knowledge?”

Loki’s voice was very, very quiet when he spoke. “There are many things one learns in the dark reaches of space beyond Yggdrasil’s reach. I have never admitted this about anything before, Sif, so take heed – I have learned of things that I wish I had remained ignorant of. And I am not the only one seeking the Stones.”

“Why do you want it?”

Loki’s smile was thin as he pulled into a cavernous structure full of other cars, pulling up before a mortal who opened Loki’s door for him. “Who said that I wanted to keep it? I only want to take it from the hands of someone who hasn’t the slightest idea how to control the power he has.”

Sif huffed as she got out of the car when Loki held her door open for her. “I wish I could believe that you were so altruistic, Loki.”

“And my brother wishes he could trust me. Why is it that so many people have so many ideas about what they _want_ me to be when I am far more fun as I _am?_ ”

Sif had no answer for that, and in the crowd she thought it best not to discuss it further. Loki took her hand and led her through the press of mortals streaming away, screaming and afraid. She turned her head to watch them, her brows drawing together. “Loki?”

“He’s already started.” Loki’s voice was a low growl only she could hear. “That damned fool mortal…”

Loki trailed off into some rather abhorrent language that she was certain would have made his mother conjure soap into his mouth, and Sif dragged him to a stop. “We have to have a plan,” she told him, pulling him into a storefront that stood open and seemed to be full of, incidentally, soap. “If this man has the ability to alter reality, there is no reason for him to cause this kind of terror.”

“Oh, there’s every reason,” Loki replied. “He and I have a lot in common, namely that we want to be seen doing what we’re doing, and so that means he’ll want us to confront him in the open, where all the helicopters and news crews—“

“The what?”

“—can see him doing what he’s planning to do.”

“Lure him into cover and then take the Stone.” Sif nodded. “Simple enough, but he’ll be expecting _you_ , since you were bored enough to go after him at first.” She reached up, grasping over her shoulder for her sword; her fingers met its hilt and she pulled it out, grinning and relaxing at its comforting weight in her hand after so long away from it. “And perhaps someone with the beauty, brains, and wit that you always seem to value so greatly will triumph here.”

Before he could protest or retort she jogged out of the shop, watched the mortals that were now almost completely gone from view (they seemed to be in some kind of market area), and ran in the direction they were running from. She had a crazy idea, one that had been spawned in a moment’s thought on the drive here but had its roots in all those long hours in the library. She just hoped she would not end up killed for her trouble.

When she finally found him, if she had not been so focused she might have been distracted by the view. It was a clear, chilly night, and the moon was beginning to set over the ocean that was just visible between two buildings. But Sif’s attention was all on the man who stood before her, a yellowish, glowing orb held in his hand.

“A _sword?_ ” he said, incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me? Bullets can’t _touch me_ , and you think bringing a sword is going to help?” Sif took a step forward, but fear flared in the man’s eyes and he took a step back. “Don’t come closer, bitch!”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Sif told him. “But that thing you hold is beyond your ken as a mortal. I have read of these things, and its power—“

“Is the only thing that can make them understand!” The man was raving, she thought, but she still held her ground. He was not the first who had told her there was no way she could understand, and she was determined not to let another one slip through.

“I am Lady Sif of Asgard,” she said, keeping her voice calm as she bent over. “I am putting my sword down, good sir, to show you I will not hurt you. I do want the thing you hold, but for your own safety, not for any greed of mine.” It was difficult to let her sword go, but she did it, and with the blade glittering in the multi-colored lights that decorated the buildings around them, Sif straightened and stepped away from her beloved weapon. “See? I do not play tricks with you.”

“The other one did.”

“Loki?”

“Yeah, the crazy asshole who blew up New York.”

“Yes, well, Loki is known for his tricks. I am definitely not he.” Sif tightened her grip on her shield, but held her other hand away from her body slightly. “What is your name, mortal?”

The man hesitated. “Walter,” he said at last. “Walter Henrikson.”

“Walter, son of Henrik.”

“Uh,” and Walter seemed to be knocked off-balance by this now, “Walter’s fine.”

“Walter.” Sif advanced a step, and this time Walter didn’t move away. “Why are you doing this, Walter?”

He watched her warily, but something in his eyes seemed broken. “My kid’s in the hospital,” he said at last, his voice cracking. “She’s dying, and those bastards, they won’t do a thing, they say they _can’t_ \--“

“Asgard has healers,” Sif told him gently. Her heart went out to this man, a suffering father – something she was familiar with, had seen for the last two years, a man with a child who was ill beyond hope it seemed – and for all her steel she was not without compassion. “They have capabilities beyond your mortal doctors. Bring your child to Asgard and I promise that I will have the healers do all they can to make her well again.”

The glow of the Stone seemed to diminish somewhat, Walter lowering his hand as he watched her warily. “You’d do that?” he asked. “You’d help my little girl?”

“I swear it on my sword and my shield. I—“

A flare of green behind Walter burned her eyes in the dim light, and Sif threw her shield up, anger flaring up in her again.

“I almost had him!” she snarled when she lowered her shield and saw Walter had spun to face Loki, the Stone raised again. Loki’s face was twisted in concentration, it was strange to see him focusing so hard on his magic—

“Look more _closely,_ Sif!” he yelled. “Did you not listen? It _warps reality!_ ”

Sif’s vision seemed to swim, and she swiped a hand across her eyes, and—instead of a frightened, scared-looking man in front of her, there was… something else. Something that might have once been a man like the one she had seen, but was now twisted, too pale, eyes glowing golden as the Stone he held. Limbs made of gold light grappled with Loki’s magic, and as she watched, one curled into something that looked like a spiked mace and flew at his head—

A scream tore from her throat and Sif scrambled back to her sword, grabbed it up, and rushed at the thing that had once, she suspected, been Walter Henrikson. A streak of yellow light reached out and wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet.

“You fell for it, stupid little girl,” the once-man hissed. “Soft-hearted—aaaaghhh—“

Loki had managed to get one of his loops of magic around the man and pulled tight. He grit his teeth; green light pulsed out from his hands, viciously bright and wicked-looking and making all the hairs on Sif’s arms stand up—and then Stone and man were gone, and Loki dropped his arms. He looked pale himself, and stumbled a step before she could get to him.

“This would all be so much simpler if I’d been allowed the Scepter,” he muttered. “But where _that’s_ locked up even I do not know. The only thing that can really fight a Stone’s power is another Stone, and…”

He trailed off and grabbed Sif’s hand again. “I know where he’s gone,” he said. “There is a place of power here—we scared him off with our arrival and he came here, but he’ll return there…”

She blinked and they were in the car, blinked again and they were back on one of the large thoroughfares speeding along. Loki was driving even more recklessly this time, and the car seemed to slip through places it shouldn’t have fit, between other cars and the walls on either side of a ramp until they were speeding down a crowded street.

“Where did you even learn to do this?” Sif ground out, once more gripping the seat. Loki’s eyes were narrowed as the car slipped through traffic to the side of the street. 

“I’ve had a very productive afterlife.” Loki grabbed her arm and suddenly they were on the sidewalk, and in front of a broad plaza that seemed to have been burned out at some point. Despite the best efforts of the craftspeople working on it, there were still charred spots, and little memorials to mark where people had died. It was in the middle of this that Walter stood, the Stone held out before him as he grinned madly at them.

“Give up the Stone, mortal!” Loki yelled over the growing din of sirens, of the wail of the Stone’s power rising.

“So you can hand it over to _him?_ ”

“I’ve got my own designs upon reality,” Loki replied. “Give it over, and I’ll let you keep what’s left of your life. Not,” and he sneered, “That you’ll survive long without that. Not with how far you’ve gone in your unworthy state.”

A crowd of people pushed around Sif, making her stumble back a few steps, and in that moment she heard Loki’s voice whisper in his ear even as he kept talking, taunting Walter.

_Move with the crowd,_ he said. _Get behind him. Take his head._

She felt her palm tingle and glanced down to see her sword and shield were invisible again. Taking the hint she slipped off sideways, keeping her head down and her eyes on Walter. She couldn’t really hear what Loki was saying, but it didn’t matter. In the middle of another push of mortals running past a Walter who was starting to glow with yellow light again, Sif made her move, holding her sword (it was still invisible, but she knew it was there, for her sword was an extension of her arm and she certainly knew where her arm was), raising it to strike.

“No.”

Sif found herself in the air again, but this time there was a tendril of power around her throat. As she was held there, legs kicking in the air and sword becoming visible again as it fell from her hand, she felt it tighten. Walter—not looking very mortal at all—turned to look at Loki.

“You get a choice, little Asgardian,” he said in a voice that was no longer his own. “Which is more important to you? Her, the woman you deemed important enough to bring with you on this little trip, or this?” He held up the Stone and smirked as Loki watched him. Sif could not believe what she was seeing – Loki had _frozen_ , didn’t know what to do. How could he?

“Take the Stone,” she gasped out, fingers clawing at the light. They passed through and she raked uselessly at her own skin. Grimacing at the sting, she met Loki’s eye. “Forget me, the Stone cannot be out in the world, it’s too dangerous—“

“She’s very noble, this one,” Walter said, eyeing her. “It might be good for you to keep her as an ally. You’ve made powerful enemies, Asgardian. Very powerful indeed, and even your little gift couldn’t assuage _his_ ire…”

Loki had gone very pale. “What did you say?” he breathed.

“Not important.” Walter narrowed his eyes at Sif and she felt the tendril of power tighten. “With a thought I can make it so she never existed at all. I wonder how many holes would be left in you then, Loki? How many places has she occupied? How empty would you feel then?”

Something was streaking toward them, a tiny shadow across the low clouds that glowed with the light of the city that stretched around them. Sif kept watch on it out of the corner of her eye, but most of her attention was on the scene before her. She did _not_ want to be erased from existence.

But it was becoming harder to think; black spots danced in front of her eyes, she could feel herself becoming weaker, her movements more sluggish even though her panic rose. She could not _breathe_ , could no longer see what it was that was hurtling toward the air through them, could not even see Loki’s face. She was going to die, and it was going to be through something as ignoble as choking, not even with her sword in hand. She would not go to Valhalla after all.

Light, brilliant white light lit her vision and suddenly she was falling. Sif had the presence of mind to begin tucking up for impact, but it wasn’t the hard ground she hit. A cushion of air caught her, and Sif opened her eyes to see herself drifting down, sparks of green light drifting up around her. Loki’s hands were facing her, palm out, and there was something in his eyes, some strange expression on his face that she’d never seen before. Sif twisted so her feet hit the ground, and then she was over on all fours, coughing. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, until strong arms grabbed her around the middle and a familiar, very welcome voice spoke.

“Deep breaths, Sif,” Thor told her, low and soothing. “Take deep breaths, it will become easier—Loki, give her some room, she’s all right—“

Loki hovered nearby as Sif rose shakily to her feet, still coughing. “Careful, Loki,” she rasped between fits. “It’ll seem like you _care_.”

As Thor urged her toward approaching mortals with a stretcher between them, she caught a glimpse of Loki’s face, and was surprised to see he looked hurt.

*

The two of them watched Sif protest the mortal healers all the way back to their vehicle. Thor had missed his friends, and Sif in particular, for they had always been close as children and had grown into best friends as adults. He knew he would have to talk to her, tell her that he would not be returning with her, but that was less pressing than other matters right now.

“So,” he said to Loki. “You are alive. _Again._ ”

“Death was boring. All woe and darkness, Thor, it really didn’t suit—“

“ _How are you alive?_ ”

The whole story tumbled out, in a mix of threats and wheedling from Thor and the usual sidestepping and bullying needed to get the less-embellished version of events from Loki, and when it was done, Thor let go of Loki’s jacket and stepped back, staring in disbelief at his brother. 

Could he even consider this man his brother any longer? The things he had done in Thor’s absence on top of everything else… and yet, Thor knew in his heart that no matter what Loki did to try and break that bond, it would always remain. There was no curse powerful enough to break it, and Thor was not sure Loki even wanted to really. His heart certainly hadn’t seemed to be in it.

“So you said you killed Father—“

“And then I said I lied about it, and you’ll never know which is the truth, but I was being honest about his passing, Thor.”

“This time.”

“Yes, this time. So, will you return to Asgard, make it as though the last wish you expressed to the Allfather—ah, me—meant nothing?”

“No. My work here is not yet finished, Loki.” And, when Loki looked triumphant, he continued, “And you will not return to Asgard either. ‘Tis clear that no punishment your home can offer will dissuade you from your path.”

“I only ever do the things that others find unpleasant,” Loki murmured. “And at least my path is one I chose from the beginning of this, not one I found my feet set upon.”

“Then I will be glad it is not what it could have been.”

“You should be.” Loki’s expression was bleak, at least until his eyes slid once again to Sif. “It could have been much worse, Thor. For all of us.”

Thor watched his brother pretend not to watch Sif being fussed over by the paramedics. She seemed in fine spirits and mostly unharmed, laughing with them. Something in Loki’s face shifted as he watched – something seemed eased, for the moment. Thor’s suspicions grew.

“So you brought Sif with you on this venture,” he said casually. Loki stiffened.

“She has been spending hours in the library reading about the Stones,” he replied. “I thought it best to bring someone who actually knew what they were about. Unlike your Avengers, who might have just stumbled around in six separate realities and left it to me to actually get anything done.”

“We would have worked it out. Sif is still a curious choice for you, given that the two of you had that… ah, entanglement that ended badly—“

“ _How did you know_ \--“

“You really are not the only one gifted with tricks, Loki, when will you learn that? I knew of it a long time, and Mother did. Have you taken up with her again? You must have, if she came with you here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki muttered sourly. Thor sighed.

“It matters,” he said gently. “You will always matter to those who know you, whether or not you believe it. Or deserve it,” he grumbled. “Now I must speak with Fury, and if I come back and find you are gone…”

“I know the routine by this point.”

*

Sif had assured the Midgard healers that she was feeling fine and the people who had been hurt in the stampede of panicked onlookers and tourists needed them more than she did. She was sat on the back step of one of their vehicles, a scratchy blanket over her shoulders and a cup of hot tea in her hands, brought over by a grinning, somewhat awkward young man in a green apron. He’d handed her the drink and then stumbled over his own feet when she’d thanked him.

Sif smiled into her drink. She was beginning to see why Thor loved mortals so much, they were very endearing.

Loki sidled over to her after Thor let him go. She could tell that whatever had been said had upset him a great deal, but true to form he was preparing for a sulk about it instead of something more productive. “You do not hide things as well as you think you do,” she told him as he sat on the step next to her.

“Perhaps you’ve just become very good at reading me.” Loki shrugged in pretended nonchalance. “I am not sure which is worse.”

They sat in silence for a long time, watching the bustle of the site. SHIELD agents were encircling the area in yellow tape; the Stone had been fitted into a foam-lined container, which was now locked beside Sif. The man with the eyepatch, Fury, did not seem happy that she was taking it back to Asgard with her, and he seemed even less happy to see Loki smirking at him. But Thor had apparently spoken to Fury, and now he was across the plaza, overseeing his own people.

“So you spoke with Thor,” Sif said at last. Loki stiffened.

“He did have things to say to me, oddly enough.”

“Oddly enough.” Sif put her tea aside and waited. When Loki didn’t talk, she sighed. “You needn’t tell me, I am certain I will find out soon enough.”

“When you return to Asgard, you will take the news.”

“You make it sound as though I will go alone.”

“Thor remains here. _I_ will be transported to a secure SHIELD holding facility. My punishment for daring to set foot on this country’s soil, even in its defense.”

“You did try to annihilate one of their cities.” Sif rested her hands on her knees. “You have done good this day.”

“I must be losing my touch.”

“Or perhaps your mother was right about you, and the rest of us were… not as right as we thought. This is not,” and she held up a finger to forestall the gloating she could see building behind Loki’s eyes, “At all an excuse for your actions, which I still find abhorrent. But it is an admission that of all of us, your mother may have had a better read of your character.”

“She had a way of knowing things.”

“This incarceration,” Sif murmured after she had thought a moment. “How long will it last?”

“The lives of mortals are fleeting,” Loki said with a shrug. “Even history will eventually take a more prosaic view of the matter. Why, Sif? Will you miss me? I thought you did not have the energy to deal with me anymore.”

There was bitterness in his words, and Sif felt a moment of regret for hers. But they had not been untrue, and she would not take them back in the face of his blatant manipulation. “I have said before I missed the man you were before,” she said. “I find I may also miss the man you are now, even if I like him somewhat less. But he shares many similarities with someone I loved once.” She felt Loki jerk beside her in surprise, and smirked. “You are surprised?”

“I suppose I should not be.”

She looked at him then, and her heart leaped to see there was something in his face that was heartrendingly earnest. In the distance she heard Thor shouting, and felt a surge of affection for his obvious attempts to give them a moment of privacy.

“I have nearly a full sentence of my own left to serve,” she said. “I have time.”

“Oh, that.” Loki waved a hand. “I commute your sentence. And those of the Warriors Three, I suppose.”

“Uncommonly generous of you.”

“I’m in a generous mood.” Loki slid off the step. “Or perhaps I just find I like being free of the throne. Ruling is not quite as entertaining as I thought it would be.”

Sif eyed him. “Right,” she muttered. “You had best go render yourself, Loki.”

“I had best. Until next time, lovely Sif.” He started off, but paused and turned, walking backwards. “And you did look _ravishing_ in that dress.”

Thor came over as Loki meekly held his wrists out for the SHIELD agents. “He submits far too easily.”

“I could have told you that.” They watched as Loki was shepherded onto a vehicle. “It is no act of contrition.”

“Always a scheme… the one thing about my brother that has not changed.” Thor touched her arm. “Will you be all right, Sif? The two of you…”

“It happened once before, Thor.” Sif leaned on him a bit; her friend had always had a comforting effect. “Will you not return, Thor? Will you take up the throne? There is nobody else to sit on it, now.” But Thor’s face had closed up, and Sif sighed. “You will not.”

“I am still not ready, Sif. I cannot do it in good conscience.”

“And nothing I say can convince you otherwise.”

“No, I am sorry. But please, Sif, tell Asgard of my wishes. If anyone should lead them in my absence, it should be you.”

“I am not a queen, Thor.”

“But you are a leader.” Thor smiled at her. “You will do fine, Sif.”

“I will do my best.”

*

She was readying her gear for battle some months later when one of the Einherjar entered her room with an urgent message.

“I will be there in only a few minutes,” she said. “If this is—“

“It is about Loki, Lady Sif. We have received word from Midgard that he has escaped custody. They cannot find him.”

Her eyes fell on a knife, resting innocently on a piece of cloth beside her other weaponry; she knew it had not been there a moment before.

Sif smiled.


End file.
